Uh, hey, are you using these chair...?
Back off! (scooches chair)
(Gretchen laughs) (both grunt)
Where have you been? I've had to fight off wave after wave of hungry, cool dads and trust-fund alts.
It's been like a hipster Game of Thrones up in this bitch.
Sorry, Ty drove me.
You banged Ty last night?
Worse... he came over this morning to invite me to the Tribeca Film Festival.
We'd leave tonight on a private plane.
Lindsay (gasps): Gretch... Tribeca is super hip.
It, like, stands for something.
The triangle below canal.
No. Something real. I'll think of it later. Private plane...!
Dicks on a private plane...
Ty is famous. Also, he's a total dog, so he's never gonna want you to meet his gross Polish parents or tell you about his squash games or ask you to shave his butthole.
Tell me you don't shave Paul's butthole.
Marriage is dark, Gretch.
I want to go, but not even really, because of Ty.
Right. Private plane, free champagne.
No, here's what's keeping me up all night: Even though Jimmy's a squirrelly guy, when I look at him, I swear I can see years into the future with this dude.
And that is why I am thinking of getting on that plane.
Geez... What are you going to do?
I'm gonna have the best goddamn Sunday Funday ever and figure it out later.
Figure it out later, dicks on a plane, Sunday Funday.
Sunday Funday, biznitches!
♪ Sunday Funday Better than a Monday ♪
♪ Can only do it one way ♪
♪ And that is the drunk way ♪
♪ Sunday Funday... ♪
Bloody Mary and a triple whiskey neat. For the love of God, hurry.
♪ And that is the drunk way! ♪
♪ I'm gonna leave you anyway ♪
♪ I'm gonna leave you anyway ♪
♪ Gonna leave you anyway. ♪
I can't believe you agreed to come to Sunday Funday...
Just because I decided to come to a "drinking" brunch does not mean I'm part of your juvenile ritual.
Jimmy, Sunday Funday is not juvenile.
Sunday Funday is about participating in fun activities with friends.
Sunday Funday is about squeezing every drop of life out of the weekend... before Monday.
Right, neither of you has a job.
You can not have a job and still hate Mondays.
Like Garfield, Jimmy... Garfield.
Hmm, well, you picked the right day to come... it's my turn.
Oh, you take turns.
Yeah, two weeks ago, I made a list of activities.
Last week was Lindser's. Today is Edgar's.
You may not believe this, but I never got to lead a mission in lraq.
And I'm telling you, I have designed the Ultimate Sunday Funday List Ever of All Time... Ever.
What does it say? "Mooch off Jimmy, scream in your sleep, threaten people at Best Buy"?
No... It's a surprise.
♪ Sunday Funday ♪
♪ Sunday Funday. Sunday Funday. ♪
♪ Ooh, yeah, baby ♪
♪ Can't get enough of the Sunday Now ♪
♪ Funday, Sunday ♪
♪ And... ♪
♪ Fun... ♪
Really good stuff...
Those are the kind of people who do Sunday Funday.
I'm from L.A.
Fun hipster sh1t is just poor Latino sh1t from ten years ago.
I'm telling you, this is gonna be the most underground, unique and dope Sunday Funday Ever...
Hey, man, you, uh, dropped this.
Edgar (sighs): Thanks.
Don't worry about it.
Hey, I think it's really cool that you guys are doing Sunday Funday, you know?
I kind of started it. Recognize these?
From Drive? (chuckles)
All right, man, have fun. (giggles)
To Sunday Funday.
♪ A Sunday, a Funday ♪
♪ A better than a Monday. ♪
♪ Sunday Funday ♪
♪ Sunday Funday ♪
♪ Beep, ba-boop, Sunday Funday ♪
♪ Ooh, yeah. ♪
Oh, see you.
Ty invited Gretchen to go to Tribeca. They're leaving tonight.
It's the triangle for canals, Jimmy.
Seriously? Well, that's fine.
We're both free to do what we want.
You really want Ty flying Gretchen on a private plane to a fancy film festival?
Look, she's a big girl... she can make her own decisions.
No, she can't! Her decisions are 99% dog sh1t.
She got LASIK at the Pasadena Flea Market.
For some perverse reason, you make her happy.
So, ask yourself this: Do you want Ty's claws even deeper into her?
You know, on second thought, I think I will witness this juvenile display myself. There's near-constant drinking involved, right?
Let's go! (Lindsay whoops)
Ew... Why are records so gross?
(gasps) (whispers) Hey, look. That other weird brunch group is here.
Back at the restaurant, I dropped the list and that guy returned it.
Aw, that was nice of him.
No, don't you see? He copied the list.
Otherwise, why would he be at this exact, obscure record store?
You're being paranoid.
No... I've let important intel slip into the wrong hands before. Najaf, 2009.
That did not turn out well.
Hey... pick a record, my treat.
All right, big spender.
Genesis... good. Okay, but not until you tell me if you are a Peter Gabriel or a Phil Collins.
They're both good.
I like them both. What's the big deal?
The big deal is that you cannot like two things which are diametrically opposed.
Huh. And yet I do.
Oh, hey... brunch guy.
Oh, you know about this place, too?
Yeah, I-I love it, it's so... authentic.
That's why it was on my list.
Oh, cool, yeah.
(Ringleader speaking Spanish)
Look! A baby record.
You rotten bitch!
You're leaving now?
Paul has a work barbecue.
I'm facing a major decision, and you're leaving me to go hang with those calorie-counting Restylane-monsters?
I hate the salad-eaters, too, but I have to go.
Just stay for one more thing on the list. Please?
Only if you buy me the little baby record.
Ow. Ow. Ow!
You are the tensest dude in the world.
You can literally touch me anywhere. I'm not shy.
Hey, Edgar, how did you narrow it down to this massage spot? I mean, after all, it's so much easier to just not make choices, right, Gretch?
Here we go.
What are you talking about?
Peter Gabriel versus Phil Collins.
Remember when Phil Collins drowned a guy?
That's not the story at all. That didn't happen.
It was disproven a billion times.
He sent the guy front-row tickets.
Saying "both" is just a cop-out.
All right, that's it. I'm helping you figure it out.
Okay, so I could ask you... "Solsbury Hill" or "Against All Odds."
Wrong, which is why we're going to come at this sideways, okay? Number one: which do you prefer?
Sean Connery or Roger Moore?
Daniel Craig. Update your references, old man.
Daniel Craig? He looks like an upset baby.
Oh, my God, he does.
Let it out. Throw it!
Okay, eggs or pancakes?
Which one's Phil Collins, and which one's Peter Gabriel?
Are you serious?
Edgar, what are we doing here?
The most obscure taco stand... What?!
Well, this place is over.
Oh, cool. You guys know about this place, too?
Look, Jimmy, I like the Tarzan soundtrack, and I like the crappy Vampire Weekend song that name-checks Peter Gabriel. I'm down with it all.
Why does this bother you so much?
It's just such a lazy way of living.
"Put it in my v*g1n* or my butt. I don't care."
Sometimes you want both.
Yeah, Jimmy. Sometimes you want both.
(Gretchen mouthing words)
Anyway, your whole thesis is flawed.
Not everything is one or the other. Edgar is both a patriot and a skeptic.
Lindsay's both a wife and a skank.
Recovering, but, yeah, totally.
I'm professional and completely unprofessional.
Well, that's true.
And, you, Jimmy... you're... You're just one thing.
Oh, my God. (Lindsay screaming)
Well, you're very popular today.
I know. Sorry.
There, I'm done. You know why I don't want to pick Peter Gabriel or Phil Collins?
Because you are just waiting for me to pick wrong so you can judge me, and why would I want to put myself through that?
Because I'm asking you to.
You told him.
Gretch, stop overthinking everything.
He's trying to be a good sport and hang out.
Just enjoy it.
Okay, I'll try, but don't leave.
I know, it's gonna suck so hard, but Paul has been really patient.
Wait. Has Paul been...?
You'll make the right decision.
Come on, I'll show you. It's the best one yet.
No, slow down!
Shopping cart races were my favorite as a kid.
(group hoots and whoops)
Jimmy! You okay?
I just want to go home and shower!
What are we doing here?
Open houses are on the list. Plus, this real estate lady always has freshly baked cookies.
Great idea, Edgar. A free activity where you can snoop on your neighbors and judge their shitty taste?
Yes, please. Get upstairs.
Quick, take a shower.
Come on, what... here?
Do what I say.
I'll get you some dry clothes. Sunday Funday.
Oh, Gretchen, come on.
Oh, right! I thought of another one, okay?
Chekov's plays or Chekov's short stor... (laughs)
(Gretchen conversing, muffled)
I know, it sounds amazing, Ty.
I gotta go. I'll call you in a bit.
The real estate lady said Jimmy left.
He did?! Well, Sunday Funday's over.
No! We can't quit now.
We don't have a car.
Are you guys following us?
You son of a bitch.
You stole my list.
What are you talking about?
Back at brunch, I dropped the list and he clearly copied everything on it. He stole our Sunday Funday.
No, we didn't.
Open houses are on your list, too? And this exact two-bedroom colonial charmer?
We look for Patty Kohan's open houses. She always has cookies.
What's that in your hand, man? Looks like a cookie.
I like your sweatshirt.
Oh, my God, thanks.
How's your Sunday Funday going?
Actually, I'm just using it as a distraction so I don't have to decide between two guys.
Oh, I hear you. I am in love with Keith.
The guy with the man bun?
We've been doing Sunday Funday for, like, two years, and he still calls me Sloppy Sweatshirt Girl.
So I totally understand where you're coming from.
I need to talk to Lindsay.
She's at Paul's West Side barbecue. How are we gonna get there?
We don't have a car. No.
(Gretchen mouthing words)
Excuse me. Ladies, I need to borrow dear Linds for a second. Toodles!
♪ I got it all ♪
♪ I got it all indeed ♪
♪ Got everything I want ♪
♪ Everything I need ♪
♪ But what I don't got is ♪
♪ A feeling that's inside... ♪
They're not that bad.
I knew it! There is one over there dressed head-to-toe in riding gear. There is not a horse around for miles.
Anyway, this is your fault!
Around you I'm never the cool one.
But with them, I'm the coolest. By, like, miles.
First, you get married, then you abandon me for these Botoxed pterodactyls. I've never done that to you.
I don't even have any other friends.
Plus, you lied when you said you were dreading coming here.
I wasn't lying. That's the weird thing.
I don't even know exactly what I was dreading.
I like the people. I like the food.
I don't know what it is.
Sweetie, Jenna wants to know if she should serve your spinach dip with water crackers or toast points?
Just go away!
I'll be right there! So, yeah.
I can't quite put my finger on what it is I don't like here.
I mean, I'm sure at some point, everybody looks at their husband and is like, "Eh, that's my future.
That's it. And why does it smell like ham all the time?" That's normal, right?
I hope not.
I just wish I had what you have.
What do I have?
Someone I wanted to do Sunday Funday with.
Actually, he bailed.
I was hoping he'd stick around to help me figure out what to do about Ty, but he's...
Listen, um... (clears throat) Phil Collins... he has his merits, all right? As lightweight and nutritionless they are. I mean really, "Land of Confusion," with is leaden pleas for world peace and the healing power of love. Thank you, George Bernard Shaw.
Give me a fortnight to machete my way through the dense...
Metaphoric thicket of those lyrics.
And while Peter Gabriel, he's, he's complex, dark, you know, interesting. I recognize that it can be nice to have some breezy "No Reply at All" fun.
You know, but following you around all day today just trying to convince you what to do? Well, it's... it's just made me feel, just-just made me feel a-ashamed and jealous and low. Like Phil Collins when he wrote "Sussudio."
But if one day, right? Eggs forced you to choose between themselves and pancakes, and you chose the soggy, tasteless pancakes, and you never ate eggs again, I'm just saying eggs... eggs would be really sad.
If you don't want me to go on this trip, just tell me.
Okay. I won't.
So, just to be clear. On one side, it's eggs, Peter Gabriel, and you, and on the other side it's pancakes, Phil Collins, and Ty?
You know, I've been drinking all day and honestly I'm not even sure anymore.
Gretchen! I did it!
Good for you, Sloppy Sweatshirt Girl.
Good for... you. You want to get out of here?
I just... things have been messed up, and I guess I thought if I could do a good job today, maybe I'd have the boost to get my sh1t back on track.
It's not your fault.
I knew it!
Okay, okay, okay.
sh1t. Okay, look. Look, these guys rely on me to come up with awesome, cool, underground cultural sh1t to do every single week. You know how much pressure that puts on me? I got shingles trying to find a new Ethiopian restaurant. Please don't blow up my spot, man. Please!
Okay? I have trouble making friends.
I'm screwed up because I saw my friends die.
You're screwed up because... you're just a really lame dude.
Thanks for making me feel better.
Wait, your friends died?
The ones from today? What happened?!
Hey. Yeah... yeah...
There you are, honey.
I came to a decision about the toast points.
(screams) Isabel was getting fussy and I asked Paul to hold her for a second and she quieted right up.
I'm a natural.
What about you? Gonna be ready for one of these guys soon?
Oh, my God! Aah!